


Altered State of Consciousness

by orphan_account



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Apocalypse, American Horror Story: Coven, House of Cards (US TV), The Checquy Files - Daniel O'Malley, The Tribes of Palos Verdes (2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Drama & Romance, F/F, F/M, Femslash, Gun Violence, Hive Mind, Implied fivesome, Mallory interacting with multiple Cody characters, Minor Character Death, Resolved Sexual Tension, Science Fiction, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-27
Updated: 2019-09-27
Packaged: 2020-10-29 00:02:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20787254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Bond type AU. Mallory is Alpha (Quartermaster) of The Cooperative. The Langdon quadruplets are a perk (read nuisance) that comes with the job.





	Altered State of Consciousness

**Author's Note:**

> The plot and characters of American Horror Story belong to Ryan Murphy and Brad Falchuk. The plot and characters of The Rook (novel) belong to Daniel O'Malley. 
> 
> All mistakes are my own. 
> 
> Gestalt intellegence = A group mind, hive mind, group ego, or mind coalescence.

The thing is, Mallory never really expected to deal with agents; certainly not the Antichrist Division. When the council hired her to be Alpha, they’d been hiring an engineering and cyber security wunderkind capable of overseeing the R&D division and the information-gathering assets of The Cooperative. They’d been planning to phase out field agents entirely. Apparently, Satan’s work could be done more efficiently online.

The incident with the Coven of witches in New Orleans, however, and their newest recruit—some twelve-year-old who could manipulate signals and fry fibre optics with her mind—made it exceptionally clear that that wouldn’t be happening.

So, agents. 

Agents in her lab and agents in her office.

It’s not that they’re unpleasant, most are quite friendly when they pick up their equipment and mission briefings. Even the vampire, Aldrich, a handsome yet incredibly dangerous looking fellow, has his charms. Mallory’s just not a people? Cryptid? Person-of-questionable-genetics? person. She’s not interested in small talk or other distractions. Her work requires her to be precise, focused.

Of course, this means that the entirety of the Antichrist Division starts treating her branch as some sort of landing place.

The invasion seems to happen overnight. She leaves the office extremely late and returns five hours later to blood in the staff room fridge, Yeti hair in the drain of the decontamination shower and Metallurgist Fae tinkering in her garage. Agent Anguis also has a habit of curling up around the computer hard drives and scaring her minions.

It's abhorrent. It won't do. She'll keep filing complaints until someone in HR cracks under the pressure.

The worst of the offenders are the Langdon siblings. They insist on looming in dark corners, touching her things and breathing down her neck. It's playing havoc with her nerves and her already chewed fingernails.

She’s been far too snappy with the minions. Her formerly irrepressible assistant, Coco, won’t even look her in the eye anymore when she delivers her coffee. 

When Mallory had gone to Mead about the hovering, the Chief of Staff had just laughed. "Oh, that," she'd said. "It’s a thing they do. Don’t worry about it. They’re just curious. They might poke at you a bit, see how you tick, but the fascination will wear off.” 

What a load of bullshit that turned out to be. Three months into her position and the fixation hasn’t waned—it’s gotten worse. 

**I ** **JIM**

She's bolstering the Cooperative's firewall after the Vatican’s latest attack when a to-go cup of coffee is set down next to her elbow. Without turning her head away from her laptop, she picks up the container and takes a sip. Pleased that Coco has finally learned the right ratio of cream and sugar, she hums her praise. “Mmm, perfect. Thank you.” The next swig is just as delicious.

“You’re welcome,” a smooth voice says from far too close to her ear. 

It takes all of Mallory's concentration to swallow her mouthful and not spit it out all over her keyboard. “Langdon,” she says in a cool tone, pretending she isn’t flustered by his appearance. “Do you have something you need to give me? Your mission report from two weeks ago, perhaps?” 

“Nothing but my undivided attention I’m afraid." He looms closer and Mallory can feel his breath against the top of her head.

“Too bad. I was hoping it might be something useful." She cradles her coffee close like he might snatch it back, and stubbornly types away with one hand. _Stay cool, Mal. Stay cool_.

Denied her attention, the most approachable Langdon gets impatient. He moves around her workbench and into her direct line of sight.

James AKA Jim Langdon is the most incongruous looking of his siblings. Despite sharing a consciousness with his fellow quadruplets, Jim dresses like a slob. His plain shirts, jeans and Chucks stick out like a sore thumb next to Michael, Duncan and Madison's refined elegance.

Suddenly curious as to why, Mallory meets the ocean blue eyes peeking out from his chocolate fringe and asks, “is there a reason your appearance is so unlike your siblings? You’re not even attempting business casual. You can’t tell me it’s a personality quirk. You don’t have the luxury of individuality.”

Jim flutters his lashes. “We’re so glad to have piqued your curiosity, Alpha. I’m afraid it’s simply to ease people’s minds. They’re more comfortable around us if we pretend to have different motivations, quirks, _desires_.” He licks his lips. “Just two sets of ordinary fraternal twins.”

Mallory slurps her coffee loudly. She’s got a few desires and they’re hardly ordinary.

It’s been a looooong and frustrating few months with the Langdon’s circling her like sharks.

Sexy sharks with laser beams attached to their heads.

_God_, she really needs to get a life. Or maybe just basic cable. Coco's been prattling on about something called Tinder. 

Grimacing at the ridiculous direction of her thoughts, Mallory looks over the top of her glasses and says, “does that actually work? Because the vibe I’m getting is still intensely creepy.”

Jim chuckles. “Is it really?” He reaches out to brush a piece of hair out of her face. 

The drag of his fingers over her cheekbone is completely unwarranted. Mallory feels her face flush and assures herself that it’s with indignation. 

“There.” He tucks the strand of hair behind her ear and gives her a flirty smile that makes her want to drop naked into his arms and roll over and over with him on a sun-washed beach.

The unsteady thumping of her heart has Mallory poking at her laptop frantically. A sigh of relief escapes her lips as a mission brief shows up at the top her email que. 

“Agent, Langdon,” she breathes. “If you’re finished harassing my person, you’re needed in Moscow.” She raises an eyebrow. “Follow me to the armoury and I’ll get you set up with your equipment.”

She stalks past him and feels Jim press a hand to the base of her spine as he falls into step beside her. “Where you lead, I follow, Alpha. We’re _always _interested in your equipment."

Mallory mutters something about personal space under her breath and tries not to enjoy the touch. He keeps his hand there the whole way, a warm weight that kindles her arousal—anger. Anger, goddammit.

“Will the coffee earn me anything good?” Jim asks, watching her gather his standard 9mm Glock, ear piece and passport.

Mallory ignores the tease in his voice. “How about a seminar on workplace boundaries?”

Jim takes the gun when she holds it out to him and blinks in confusion when she doesn’t immediately let go. Squeezing her fingers around the cool metal, Mallory jerks him toward her and rasps, “don’t think I won’t shoot you, Agent.”

He gives her a devil-may-care smile. "We'll keep that in mind."

Message delivered, Mallory releases her grip on the barrel and watches Jim wield the weapon with ease. He tests the weight in his palm for a moment and then slides it into the leather holster at the small of his back.

She tries not to drool. 

Sue her, but the James Dean thing is really working for him. 

Jim smirks at the look of reluctant admiration on her face and grabs his documents. “Don’t miss me too much while I’m gone. Michael’s nearly finished in Uruguay. He’ll be back in time to feed you dinner when you forget.”

“I’m not a _fucking_ house plant!"

Jim looks taken aback by the outburst, but Mallory isn't done. "I don’t need you to put me on a rotating schedule for watering and feeding. I have min—staff! _Staff_ that are paid to do these things.” The furious shake of her head has her glasses sliding down her nose.

“Whatever you say, Alpha.” Jim reaches out a hand and bumps a knuckle into the bottom frame of her glasses, nudging them back up into place. “Duncan will be here in an hour with lunch.”

_Thing. Pod person. Cordyceps zombie fungus! _

He’s gone before Mallory thinks of the last one. She really needs to start writing these insults down for quick reference.

**II ** **DUNCAN**

It’s almost 2:00am and it’s been silent on the comms for twenty minutes. Langdon's been instructed to lie low while they wait for Hank Foxx, a witch hunter, to finish diddling his mistress. It's tedious work, but they need to interrogate the pathetic excuse of a man about his wife and target (the leader of the New Orleans Coven).

The witches are stirring; trying to summon the Messiah again, no doubt. For the past three weeks there’s been unusual Ley Line activity in the Southern states. The Cooperative's been left with no other choice but to become involved.

Having dismissed her staff around 10:00pm, Mallory’s completely alone in her department. She’s dosing off slightly, head slumping slowly toward her desk, when the comms come to life.

“What are you wearing?” The abruptness of the question has her snapping awake.

“What?”

“I asked what you’re wearing." Duncan's voice is a purr. 

Mallory frowns. “I was hoping I misheard you. You know _exactly_ what I’m wearing. Madison was in the office for a de-brief this morning.”

“You could have changed between now and then,” he drawls. “But that’s alright, we thought you looked delicious in your pencil skirt.”

Nervously, Mallory smooths said skirt as if he can the wrinkles she's worked into it. “Are you forgetting my threat?” 

“We're not within shooting range, Alpha.”

“Yet,” Mallory mutters darkly. She rubs the sleep out of her eyes and rights her glasses, only to notice that the lenses are horribly smudged. Now that she's acknowledged it, she can't help fixate on the blur. “Ugh,” she huffs. “My glasses are filthy. I can’t see a thing. Any movement on your end?”

“Just the dance of the beast with two backs. Hank Foxx should really wax his ass." Duncan's sigh releases static over the line. “Clean your glasses. I’ll be your eyes.” 

He—they, keep doing that. Slipping in and out of the collective. Mallory wonders which is more comfortable: I or we. They spend so much time cultivating their personas, trying to appear separate. It must get lonely. Being together yet ultimately alone.

“Ah.” His voice is just a breath, a whisper in her ear. “Would you keep us company, Mallory? Let us curl around you and share your warmth?”

She realizes then that she’s been speaking aloud.

The sound of her name on his tongue, the precise _a _and the rolled _r _that alludes to his skill with foreign languages, sends shivers down her spine. Mallory tries to banish the image of multiple hands caressing her in the dark and fails.

Could she really hold them? Would they let her press all of their pieces back together again? Her palms itch to skate over lithe muscle and sleek skin, and stroke them into one mien of pure ecstasy.

“How do you know my name? That’s classified information,” she says, trying to cover her gaffe.

“We have our ways,” that velvety voice insists, stirring the arousal blossoming in her gut.

He—they’re so confusing. Is she supposed to take such an intrusion as genuine interest, or are they just teasing? Toying with her like a bored cat bats a mouse.

“What are you doing? You’ve been taunting me for three months. Is this a game? Why don’t you just…” Walk up and kiss her the next time they’re in the lab? Touch her before she combusts?

Abruptly, Duncan swings into view of the motel CCTV camera that she’s watching from and Mallory squints angrily at his face. She'll have to delete the footage later.

Why does he have to be so beautiful? That glowing skin, the forged, perfect cheekbones, the blond scruff and sensual mouth. _Fuck_. This is the last time she’s going celibate for a year.

“Did it ever occur to you that we’re shy?” Duncan says finally, eyes flashing. “Maybe we’re waiting for you to make the first move.”

Mallory sobers, anger drying up like dew in the sun. “No. It didn’t occur to me.” _You look like you walked out of a billboard or a porno for fuck’s sake. _Those sort of people don’t wait for _her_ to make the first move. 

Duncan cocks his head and scratches at his chin. Mallory's mouth goes dry. She wants to feel the prickle of his stubble between her legs.

“You know, Alpha, for someone who's so inventive, you have an incredible lack of imagination." He chews his lip, considering. "We’ll have to get creative for you.” 

Mallory wrinkles her nose. She’s not sure she likes the sound of that.

Something flickers over Duncan's shoulder then, and she snaps to attention. “Incoming in three, two, one...” Her whisper tapers off as the mark comes into view.

Duncan gives her a salute and slinks back into the shadows. She hears him chuckling under his breath. “Your move,” he repeats.

Mallory’s not sure if it’s a warning or a threat.

She goes home two hours later, when the op is finished, and brings herself to orgasm so many times that she passes out with her vibrator between her legs. If she mumbles four names in her sleep, no one’s around to hear it.

**III ** **MADISON**

As quietly as she can, Mallory tucks herself into a corner at the shooting range and watches Madison test the lab's newest attempt at exploding bullets. It's a strictly professional visit, she’s merely observing the other woman’s stance.

Madison had dislocated her shoulder two weeks prior during a job in Dubai. Medical cleared her, but Mallory has her doubts. The last thing she needs is a mission going sideways because the Langdon’s hate to be idle.

Shifting against the wall, Mallory crosses her legs at the ankle and proceeds to bore holes into the back of Madison's head. She knows not to interrupt agents when they're discharging a weapon. Orientation covered that much at least. Of course, she can’t stop her thoughts. _Stop working and look at me. You made me crave your attention and now you’ve taken it away…_

Since her little talk with Duncan, the siblings have made themselves scarce. They’ve stopped haunting her lab and speaking with her entirely. To rub salt in the wound, they've been turning their equipment and mission reports in to the appropriate minions and leaving without a backwards glance.

No one’s bringing her food anymore, so Mallory's relapsed into drinking shitty break room coffee and nibbling on the stale pop-tarts in her desk. Coco tried to offer her a fruit salad a few days ago, and she growled at her like a bear.

The avoidance is grating on Mallory’s last un-caffeinated nerve. 

How dare they feed her, nurture her, and lavish her with attention, only to drop her in the corner to wilt? The coil they’ve been winding with their constant flirting wants to burst out of her like a spring.

The absence of gunfire and explosions lets Mallory know that Madison's reached the end of the clip. She’d made it through the whole thing without a wobble.

_Well, fuck. _Mallory heaves a sigh, disappointed that she doesn't have an excuse to berate her. Uncrossing her legs, she forces herself to pull away from the wall and turn towards her lab. It's time to find some other, safer distraction.

The scientist who designed the bullets comes in then; a small woman in a lab coat, her mass of tawny hair held back with a barrette. Zoe Benson if Mallory’s not mistaken. 

Madison glances over at Zoe and smiles.

Mallory does a double take. _Jesus Christ_. She can _smile_?

Mallory's never seen this Langdon's face move beyond a catty smirk or a moue of distaste. 

“Zoe,” Madison says. She sounds friendly. _Friendly_, for crying out loud. Mallory's always suspected that Madison’s usual aura of cool detachment is the quadruplets’ true temperament. 

Madison takes off her ear wear and safety glasses and gives the scientist a kiss on each cheek.

_Oh, come on_, Mallory thinks, outraged. What's next, lingering hugs and inside jokes?

“Here.” Madison hasn’t acknowledged Mallory’s presence for half an hour, hasn’t spoken to her in weeks, but she hands her gun over to Zoe and tells her, “they detonated okay, but the weight feels a bit off. They might need some tinkering.” 

Zoe puts the gun away in a metal case and claps her hands excitedly. “Thank you for the feedback, Agent La—Er, I mean Madison.”

“Thank you for letting me get my hands on the new rounds before Aldrich,” Madison says indulgently. “They were a thrill to fire.” 

The Langdon’s don’t have an indulgent bone in their model perfect bodies. Not that they’ve shown to Mallory, anyway. 

“I know,” Zoe beams, her excitement infectious. “I shot a few during the beta test, but my aim isn't as good as yours.”

_Oh, fuck off, Zoe._

Feeling positively adolescent, Mallory bends over slowly, giving the room—_Madison_—a decent view down the front of her blouse (a little too tight these days, damn those pop-tarts) and adjusts the strap on her patent leather Maryjanes. Her nipples tighten with awareness of a heated gaze.

Zoe follows the twist of Madison’s head, gives Mallory the nicest, most open smile she’s ever received from a member of The Cooperative, and turns back to their conversation like there'd never been an interruption. Madison drops Mallory from her attention again in Zoe’s favour. "Nonsense," she says. "We'll work on your form the next time I'm needed for a test."

Is Madison flirting? That sounds like flirting.

DING!

Mallory barely holds back a flinch as Zoe digs in the pocket of her lab coat, pulling out a sleek phone. Eyes dropping to sneak a peek at the screen, Zoe blushes a deep shade of red.

“The boyfriend?” Madison asks, refocusing on the other woman.

“He likes to keep in touch.”

“I bet he does.”

Mallory’s going to scream like a toddler denied a toy. Instead, she counts to ten and executes a neat spin on her sensible heels, striding off down the hall away from the armoury. Mortifyingly, her eyes start to mist.

She takes the seven paces to the nearest staff bathroom at a clip and opens the door harder than intended—the ricochet off the wall behind it is a loud bang. Mallory hardly hears it.

Leaning over the sink, she cranks the tap open and splashes cold water on her face; banishing her tears before they can fall. 

_In, out. _

Mallory listens to the steady stream of water and tries to slow her breathing.

Several minutes of steady inhaling and exhaling has her feeling less like a loose cannon. Embarrassed by her momentary loss of control, she kills the tap and reluctantly looks up into the mirror to meet her reflection.

Blue eyes twinkle at her in amusement. Madison’s standing behind her, dangling a paper towel over her shoulder.

“Thanks," Mallory mutters. She cuts her eyes and swipes the paper from her hand with shaking fingers, scrubbing it hastily over her knuckles and lobbing it in the garbage. 

“Feeling a little hot under the collar, Alpha?” 

“Something like that.” 

Madison smiles like she’s won a prize. “You’re jealous.”

The accusation makes Mallory frown. She tries to twist away from the sink, wanting to flee this conversation, but strong hands catch her hips. “_No_. I think you should stay right there. Right where I want you.”

“Oh, now you want me?” The words are a snarl. “Why don’t you go back to flirting with Zoe.”

Madison’s fingers flex into her flesh and heat lances through her. Her eyes dart back to Madison's in the mirror. The assassin holds her gaze and leans in close, pressing her breasts into her back and dragging her lips up the side of her neck. “I would apologize for that, if I could make the apology sincere.”

Mallory's cheeks burn with jealousy and resentment. “Fuck you.”

Quick as a flash, Madison grips her chin hard and jerks her head to the side. “Only if you ask nicely, stubborn girl. We told you it was your move.”

Mallory blinks at her, taking in the stern line of her lips hovering inches from her own, and then she's surging forward and kissing her.

Her mouth opens on Madison’s… so hot and so _sweet_. Her glasses dig into the bridge of her nose painfully, but she ignores it, sweeping her tongue demandingly past the other woman's teeth.

Madison, still feeling indulgent, allows it for a few moments before she slides her fingers into Mallory's loose chignon and tugs. 

“You've made your opening gambit, Alpha, but you haven’t earned the right to be in charge. We do this my way.” The whisper does delightful things to her sensitive mouth. 

Mallory opens her eyes sluggishly. “I—” 

“Shh,” Madison says. “We’ve got you.”

This time, Madison sweeps her lips across Mallory's, wet and deliberate. It’s slow, and deep, and claiming, and Mallory’s utterly ruined for anyone else. Dazed and intensely aroused, she puffs out a breath when their mouths part. She keeps her eyes away from the mirror, afraid of what she might see. 

“Do you know that I could strip you naked in less than a second? Touch every part of you in three?" Madison nibbles at her earlobe. "You’ve seen what I can do with my hands, haven’t you?” 

Mallory has. It’s impressive. The thought of deadly fingers gently searching out her secrets has her sex softening in her pants. She sucks in a feverish breath and feels the room spin, absolutely certain that her underwear are ruined. 

Sensing her desperation, Madison cups her breasts. Clever fingers pluck at her nipples through her camisole and bra, learning from every expression that shocks across her face.

“Look at you,” Madison coos, pleased with the arch of her back. “You’re so beautiful. Even when you’re playing hard to get.”

Something in Mallory rankles at the world beautiful. She knows she’s nothing special. A fascination maybe, but nothing substantial enough to hold their attention once they’ve gotten what they want.

“Don’t,” she says uneasily. “Don’t do that. Just touch me and—”

“No,” Madison interrupts. “You have no idea what you’re talking about. You always think you know what we mean, but you don’t.” Sharp teeth nip at Mallory’s neck. “You’re beautiful. Our stubborn little genius, hiding behind her glasses and a scowl.”

Mallory feigns impatience, trying to find an edge to cling to in the swirl of lust overtaking her brain. “Look, you’re not the first people to try and tell me that I’m beautiful. I’m here, I’ve yielded. Just take what we both want.” 

“Oh, Mallory.” Madison runs one hand from her breast, straight and sure and blazing with heat, down her body to cup her sex. “That was exactly the wrong thing to say. What are we going to do with you?”

Aching and wet, Mallory gasps at the contact of Madison’s slim fingers with her clothed slit. 

The rotation of Madison's thumb, just so, suggests that she knows precisely what they want to do with her.

Mallory whimpers and twists frantically between Madison’s hand and the pressure of her body at her back. Those fantastic fingers leave her nub and pull down the zipper of her pants, delving inside and past her underwear to rub against her folds. 

Mallory mewls and bucks her hips into the touch. Madison plays with her lush fullness and keeps her still with a hand pushed flat against her tummy.

“So soft and wet for me,” Madison says. “So perfect. Look at how perfect you are.” Her eyes, nearly glowing, call Mallory’s to her in the mirror.

Unable to bear the dark intensity for longer than a moment, Mallory shifts her gaze and gets a look at her own face. She’s slack-jawed and thoroughly rumpled. A rosy blush paints her neck down to the tops of her breasts. She looks debauched and more frighteningly, _happy_.

Mallory shuts her eyes against the image and shakes her head in denial. _Don’t get used to it. Don’t get attached._

Madison curls a finger inside of her and it’s so delicious, she could die.

“Open your eyes beautiful girl.” Madison pushes another finger inside, deep and insistent.

Mallory’s eyes fly open at the sensation. The stretch of her long-neglected muscles sends colours shooting through her brain. Her mind struggles with the pleasure. _No. Not so easily, not so completely. _

Azure eyes burn like flames over her shoulder as she comes. Madison holds her with the hand against her quivering belly and the one still buried in her sex as she shatters uncontrollably.

“So lovely." Madison's voice is hoarse. Mallory shudders against her chest as she grinds her palm into her clit and forces the convulsions to keep coming.

Madison holds her snugly when she stills, humming nonsense words as if she’s a child that needs soothing.

Mallory’s not in a hurry to rip herself away. It’s nice to be cared for. To have someone hold _her_ pieces together.

She turns her head and nuzzles her nose into Madison’s cheek. “Stop ignoring me,” she pleads, feeling vulnerable. “I hate it.”

Madison kisses the corner of her mouth. “Then stop denying yourself, flower. Let us pamper you like you deserve.”

Mallory smiles dopily at the nickname. “You want to be my sun.” 

Madison's lips stretch slowly as she smiles back. “No. We want you to be ours.” 

Mallory likes the sound of that. Them orbiting around her; the fixed centre of their galaxy.

She suffers through the rest of the work day with a tender, well-loved ache between her thighs. If the minions notice an improvement in her mood, no one says so. 

At 5:00pm, Jim appears bearing a muffin. It's blueberry banana, her favourite kind.

She lets him grope at her ass as she finishes her paperwork, listening intently as he tells her how he stroked himself off to the feel of her clenching around Madison’s hand.

**IV ** **MICHAEL**

It’s an accident—Coco bumping into her while she’s working with the poison inhalants. _It’s just a stupid mistake_, Mallory thinks as she watches the metal canister fly out of her hands and release a puff of white powder into the air.

_An unfortunate mishap._

She opens her mouth to shout a warning at Coco, but ringed fingers clamp over her mouth and nose, cutting off her air. 

Panicked, Mallory looks over her shoulder and meets furious blue eyes. Michael raises the gun in his free hand and puts a bullet in the back of Coco’s head. The blonde drops to the floor mid step and lays still. Blood leaks from the neat hole in her skull and pools on the concrete. 

Mallory’s lungs burn with the need to hyperventilate as her mind swims. _OhmygodohmygodCoco’sdeaditwasamistakejustastupidmistake._

Michael curls the hand with the gun across her chest and starts dragging her backward, away from the body. In passing, Mallory slams the side of her fist into the button for the contaminant alarm on the wall beside the vent hood.

Sirens and flashing lights fill the lab. The airlock doors slide shut, sealing them off from the rest of the branch.

Thankfully, no one else is in the room with them. Someone left cake in the staff room at lunch, and the locusts descended during their 3:00pm coffee break.

Mallory hadn't been tempted by the lure of cream-cheese frosting. She'd intended to work through her break, wanting to check the poison’s expiry date before sending Agent Campbell with a canister on his trip to Angola that evening. 

She was so intent on the label that she hadn't noticed Michael enter the room.

“What the hell is the matter with you?” he growls angrily, coming to a stop next to the decontamination shower. “Why weren’t you wearing a mask?” 

Mallory writhes her way out of his hold and takes a gasping breath. The first inhale feels sharp. She hunches her shoulders as cold shock settles beneath her ribs.

“It was a mistake,” she mumbles through numb lips. “The canister was supposed to be sealed.”

Michael strips them so fast with flying, deft hands, Mallory barely has time to pull her glasses off of her face. He herds her into the tiny stall with him and pulls the lever, opening the shower head to full blast. Icy water drenches them head to toe, making both of them cry out. 

When the deluge cuts off a few minutes later, Michael forces Mallory's head down over the eye wash station in front of her. High-pressure water pulses into her eyes and she whimpers at the sting.

He gentles her through the worst of it, stroking a hand up her naked side. “Shhh, flower. You’re okay. Just let me take care of it.” 

Satisfied that her eyes are rinsed, Michael cups a hand around Mallory's throat and guides her back into his chest. She shivers violently at the warmth of him as his free hand snakes around her waist. The back of her head just meets the top of his sternum. 

Michael cranes his neck down and puts his lips against her ear so that she can hear him over the klaxons. “Madison was leaving your afternoon snack on your desk. The program you’re running on your laptop broke the encryption key on Hank Foxx’s files. Coco St. Pierre Vanderbilt was listed as a suspected witch.”

Mallory blinks betrayed tears away from her red eyes. “You were closer.”

“Yes.” 

Its Michael’s turn to shake then as he releases a gust of air against her neck. His thumb strokes over her pulse. “We could have lost you. She was far too close.”

Mallory raises a hand to fist in the wet tangles of his long hair. “It’s okay," she says quietly, and then more forcefully, "I’m alright. You made it in time.” She turns her head to blink at his face and gasps at what she sees there. From this angle, he looks severe. Despite the murder in his eyes, he's so beautiful its almost cruel.

It always hits her like a ton of bricks, but the pain in his expression—at the thought of losing her—is something else. Something breathtaking.

Michael squeezes her to him like a teddy bear and whispers, “if we could, flower, we’d crawl into you and never come out.” 

Mallory subsides into him, tension draining slowly out of her as they shiver against one another. She shifts her weight then which has the unfortunate? accidental? effect of pushing her ass back into Michael’s pelvis. The feeling of his cock hardening up against her has an involuntary groan falling from her lips. 

A delirious wave of want crashes through her brain as the hands around her drop down to clutch her hips.

“Go ahead,” she pants. “It’s alright. Crawl into me. I can take it.” She grips the edge of the eyewash basin and tilts her hips back invitingly.

Michael’s next growl is wanting.

He brushes a hand over her low back, hissing when she bows into the touch, and lowers it down over her ass to the exposed folds of her sex. It only takes a few passes of his fingers along her cunt, before she’s dripping with her own moisture. 

“Please, Michael. Just fuck me,” she pants. “I can take it. I want—I want to feel full. Feel the stretch.” God, the power of that statement. The _taste _of it.

“_Fuck_, Mallory. Your mouth’s too sweet for those words.” He bites her shoulder as a reprimand and she keens.

“B-better shut me up then.” He chuckles darkly at her stutter and does just that.

The first fierce plunge of his length into her body is glorious. The sting of her walls being forced apart goes right to her clit. She jolts like she's been electrocuted and she thinks for a moment that she could come just from that. 

She’s wanted this forever. Wanted _them_ forever. 

Each time Micheal fucks into her heat, Mallory accepts him more readily. Soon, simmering pleasure completely overtakes pain.

She melts around him, helpless but to receive his length as he sets a punishing pace. It’s rough, fast fucking that has little noises and grunts slipping past her lips.

Mallory’s eyelids grow heavy as the tension in her core gathers for release. _So close…so close._

“That’s it, sweet girl. Bloom for us," Michael encourages. He licks the shell of her ear and mutters, “Duncan’s in a meeting with Mead. You’re going to make him come in his pants.” 

The reminder that his pleasure is shared, that their fucking is a collective experience, whites out Mallory’s brain. She sees their faces—Jim, Duncan, Madison—in the throes of orgasm and quakes around him, coming with a breathy sob.

Michael's surprised shout is the sweetest thing she's ever heard. Her eyes roll back as the the wild squeeze of her muscles drags him with her over the edge.

After, they stay curled together, faces open with rosy emotion in the wake of their mutual release.

Micheal's hand draws shapes against Mallory's inner thigh, finger painting with his own semen. She'd scrunch her nose at him in protest, but she's too content to care. 

They really need to dry off and get dressed.

The bio-hazard containment team will be here any minute, wanting to whisk them off to medical. Neither of them are bleeding out of their eyes and ears, so she figures that they got lucky and managed not to inhale any of the powder.

Tapping against the glass door of the lab has the last of her afterglow dissipating with alarm.

_Oh fuck_.

Michael feels her tension and chuffs. “Relax. The fraternization policy is more of a guideline anyway. We have it on good authority that Mead’s gotten a leg over Aldrich at least once.”

Mallory cringes at _that_ mental image and bends down to retrieve her glasses from the bottom of the shower. Thankfully, they haven’t been smashed.

She blinks a few times as her vision adjusts and sighs with relief. It’s not a superior or one of her minions at the door.

Madison and Jim smirk at them and wave. They brought towels.

Michael spins Mallory around and presses an aggressive kiss to her lips. “Come home with us.” 

“Okay.” 

**V ** **MALLORY**

The way they undress each other, totally in synch, is surprisingly tender and a bit eerie. Mallory lifts herself up on her elbows in the middle of the California king bed and watches with rapt attention as Jim helps Duncan shuck his pants—pants he _did_ in fact come in during his meeting. Next to them, Michael unzips Madison’s dress.

“This doesn’t count as incest, does it?” Her voice holds no trace of disgust, just interest.

Four sets of identical blue eyes turn in her direction. They smile in unison.

Again, a bit creepy.

Jim, fully naked, crawls up the left side of the bed toward her. “I guess that depends...” 

Duncan grabs her right ankle and continues. "On your point of view.”

Madison’s at her right side then, walking her fingers across her chest. “Shared mind, shared sensation," she drawls.

Michael gazes at her from the foot of the bed and says, "it’s more like masturbation.”

Duncan’s stubble tickles her thigh, an inch below her open core. “Your reactions are the true pleasure."

Jim takes her lips in a slow, drugging kiss. "Let us love you, flower." The words steal her breath and her reservations.

Mallory lies back then and lets them fan the spark kindling inside of her until her skin is nearly incandescent. 

Lost in their ministrations, she breaks and reforms, smile growing brighter each time until it's more blinding than a solar flare.


End file.
